


Friends Until the End

by somethingsintheair



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Excessive use of italics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Overthinking, i guess i mean this is havve we're talking about here, rated for language and subject matter? i guess?, the topic of death is addressed but no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingsintheair/pseuds/somethingsintheair
Summary: Sung considers the negative aspects of immortality.





	Friends Until the End

It was one of those nights.

Doctor Sung’s mind was racing. His train of thought wasn’t going anywhere in particular, but boy, was it going _fast._ He had a lot to think about, that was for sure. He’d lived such a long life, he’d seen so much. And yet, he still had so much more to see. He had no idea how much longer he was going to live-- for all he knew, his life could go on forever. Hell, it would _very likely_ go on forever. The thought both excited and terrified him. On the plus side, he would have time to do literally everything there is to do. He could explore every corner of the universe, invent every piece of technology possible. The life of a presumably immortal being had endless possibilities, and Sung wanted to live through them all.

But… there was also a negative side to this probable immortality.

Frankly, the idea of outliving his friends made him absolutely sick. He knew it was a selfish thought, wanting to leave them before _they_ could leave _him._ Really, he’d be fine with just a few years. He could live a few years on his own after his friends were gone, sure. The possible _millions upon millions of years_ was a bit more than he could handle, however. He had no idea what their lifespans were like, and that wasn’t exactly something you could just ask someone. Sure, Sung had asked his fair share of strange questions upon their first meeting, but things had calmed down since then. He knew what he had to know. He couldn’t get away with invasive questioning about his friends’ species without providing a reason.

But really, did he even _want_ to know? What if they _weren’t_ immortal? What if Meouch and Phobos could only live for a hundred years? What if Havve’s organs gave out one day and Sung couldn’t replace them again?

Fuck, if Sung _did_ die before his friends, who would be around to take care of them? Would they be okay on their own? Would Havve be left to rust, with no one to tend to him? Would he end up thrown out in a cave again, his heart crushed in his chest?

Sung was already starting to feel the physical effects of his thoughts. Shortness of breath, the beginnings of what he could tell was going to be a pounding headache. If he sat there any longer, he was going to think himself to death. His only option was to get out of bed. He glanced over at the clock by his bed-- 3:30. He wouldn’t be falling asleep any time soon.

As he dressed himself, topping it off with his helmet, he realized just how much he was shaking. His thoughts had apparently freaked him out a little more than he'd realized. He needed to do something to distract himself. _Anything._ But _what?_

His eyes darted around the room, and his gaze eventually landed on the pair of drumsticks he'd placed neatly on his bureau. With a thoughtful sigh, he picked them up, rolling them around in his hands. It had been quite a while since he'd played the drums-- he'd left that responsibility to Havve when the band began. But he distinctly remembered it being a good method of stress relief, and focusing on keeping a steady beat would be much better than focusing on his thoughts.

The basement was mostly soundproof. Mostly. They'd done that very strategically so as to avoid any complaints from the neighbors. So long as Sung didn't play too loud, he wouldn't disturb his bandmates in their sleep.

Once he got down there, he started off a little shaky, but warmed back up to it pretty quickly. It wasn't long before he was pounding away and forgetting all his troubles. It was just like old times, he thought.

But apparently Doc had forgotten about the _mostly_ soundproof ceiling there, and completely disregarded any sort of indication that he might be playing a bit too loud. He drummed with reckless abandon, drumsticks slamming down in a way that could only be described as violent. He only stopped when one of the sticks snapped in half.

“Fuck,” he cursed, shaking his hand out. Alright, that one hurt a little bit. The feeling of solid wood snapping in one's hand wasn't exactly a good one, he'd forgotten that after going so long without drumming. He let out a huff as he stood up, tossing the broken stick aside. They had extras somewhere, right? Havve had definitely broken drumsticks before.

Quickly, he stood from his seat and started looking. He had to get back to doing something before he started thinking again. He was a bit surprised when he opened the basement door to see Havve staring down at him. 

“Oh, uh... good morning, Havve,” Sung greeted, his voice surprisingly level. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Havve crossed his arms. “I COULDN'T HELP BUT WAKE UP TO THE SOUND OF YOUR MEDIOCRE-AT-BEST DRUMMING TECHNIQUE.”

“Sorry,” Sung mumbled, his gaze hitting the floor. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT HOW YOUR BODY WORKS, DOCTOR, BUT I HIGHLY DOUBT DRUMMING IS CONDUCIVE TO SLEEP.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he replied, “I’ll just, um… I can go lay down again, you can go back to sleep.”

“FINE.” Havve turned abruptly and started back up the stairs. Sung followed quickly after, wringing his hands as he willed himself to speak again.

They got to the top of the stairs before he spoke, his voice cracking a bit as he began. “H-hey, um… Havve?”

Havve didn’t even turn to look at him. “YES, DOCTOR.”

“Would you be okay with someone else taking care of your repairs?” he asked. “Say, if I was… unable to?”

Havve paused. “I DON’T SEE WHY NOT, AS LONG AS IT IS NOT THE COMMANDER. I DO NOT TRUST A MAN WHO LICKS HIS HANDS CLEAN.”

“That’s… fair,” Sung said with a nod. “Phobos, then. He already knows a lot from watching me, I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to teach him…”

As Sung trailed off, Havve turned around and grabbed his arm.

“Wh… what’s wrong?” he asked. “What are you--”

“I HAVE KNOWN YOU FOR LONG ENOUGH TO SEE THE SIGNS,” Havve said, and started dragging Sung along, back down towards the basement. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING, BUT IT IS CLEARLY NOT GOOD FOR YOU.”

Sung was at a loss for words as he stumbled down the stairs after Havve. The cyborg had never been one to pick up on the emotions of others, especially not when he was feeling particularly irritated.

When they made it down to the basement, Havve grabbed Sung by his shoulders and sat him back down at the drum kit. He grabbed a new pair of sticks from a shelf Sung must have missed, and placed them in his hands.

Sung looked down at the sticks, then back up at Havve. “What are you--”

“YOUR SENSE OF RHYTHM IS LACKLUSTER,” Havve answered, “NO WONDER YOU DON’T DO THIS ANYMORE.”

“I’m… wow, Havve, you’re really not--” Sung cut himself off when he saw Havve sit down against the wall, and after a moment, a rhythmic clicking sound started playing. Havve’s red eyes blinked in sync with it.

“GO,” Havve said. “STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT AND START PLAYING.”

Sung managed a little smile as he looked down at the drumsticks again. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended by Havve’s criticism. He counted himself in before he started playing again without a care in the world.


End file.
